


Easy As Pie

by alessandralee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Baking, Classics, F/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma needs a history class to graduate, and the only one that fits into her schedule comes with a great study group and an anti-social classmante.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy As Pie

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as something completely different, but I'm happy with where it ended up.

There are few things Jemma Simmons loves as much as the beginning of a new semester. She loves seeing her friends again, picking up her textbooks (covered by her scholarship, thankfully), and even matching her notebooks to her folders. It’s also the time when her full schedule feels like a series of exciting opportunities, and not just more work than she has the time to actually get done.

She’s even excited for Roman Civilization, the only class she could find that both fulfilled her general education requirement for history and fit into her busy schedule.

Her lab instructor gives a brief lecture on safety protocols and lets them leave early, which gives Jemma time to swing by the student union and grab a muffin and a large tea for lunch on her way to the humanities building. It takes her a few minutes to orient herself, but she manages to make it to the proper classroom. It’s only about a quarter of the way full, but there’s still fifteen minutes until class starts.

Jemma quickly drops her bag onto a desk in the second row, just to the right of center. She doesn’t want to seem too eager; history’s not her strong point. But from here, she’ll be able to hear and see everything, even if the professor is a quiet talker. And she won’t have to worry about seeing over the media projector built into the left side of the white board.

She takes her notebook and folder (both red) out of her bag, and removes the wrapping from her muffin, taking care to leave as few crumbs as possible. When she finishes with her muffin about ten minutes later, there’s still no one sitting on either side of her. Jemma’s starting to feel a little self-conscious, but then a tall guy with dark hair walks in and purposefully takes a seat at the desk to her right. She’s surprised he actually fits into the cramped desk with its attached chair, but he manages to fold himself into it somehow. He pulls out a notebook and pen, then stares at the front of the room until the professor arrives.

At exactly 12:59PM, Dr. Coulson enters the room, carrying a large pile of books. He’s wearing a burgundy tie with little Coliseums embroidered on it, and he’s accompanied by a female student carrying a large replica shield. Once she’s deposited the shield at the front of the class, she throws her back down on the desk to Jemma’s left and returns to the front of the room to turn the projector on.

“Welcome to Roman Civ, I’m Dr. Coulson. I see many familiar faces in the room as well as some new ones,” the professor begins. “We’ll get started with an overview just as soon as Skye set up the PowerPoint for me, I’m afraid I’m not that great with computers. In the meantime, please introduce yourself to the people to either side of you. Make sure you get their contact information, as I’ve been told a good study group is key to acing this class.”

The room is suddenly filled with conversation and Jemma turns to the guy next to her.

“Hi, I’m Jemma,” she begins somewhat awkwardly.

He seems startled.

“Grant,” he eventually replies.

“I’m a biochem major, so I’m not a huge history buff. However I’m really good at note-taking and organizing study groups, so if I could get your email and maybe your phone number I’m sure we’ll both do really well this semester.”

Wordlessly, he rips a page out of his notebook and scribbles his information down. Jemma’s familiar with the notion of the strong, silent type, but he just comes off as rude. Still she writes her own information down for him.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile as she takes the sheet of paper he hands her.

He doesn’t smile back.

It seems Skye has set up the projector and Dr. Coulson starts going over the class requirements. There’s so much for them to cover, Jemma can’t help but feel more and more nervous as he adds to the list of topics. If she has any background knowledge on the topic, she’d feel much better. It’s not like Grant’s going to be any help.

Lucky for her Skye, the girl sitting to her left, takes the time to introduce herself after class is dismissed. She’s a computer science/Classics double major (apparently translating Latin is excellent practice for computer languages) and already knows people they can study with.

Jemma feels much more relieved after their conversation.

\--

Thursday rolls around and Roman Civ meets for the second time. Jemma has to sprint across campus to make it from her lab, and lunch will have to wait until she gets out of class, but at least Skye saves a seat for her.

Grant has moved his seat up and row and to the left three seats, which would be fine because he’s made it clear that he wants nothing to do with Jemma. However, he’s tall enough that his head blocks the bottom left corner of the projector screen, forcing Jemma to crane her neck to see around him.

And that means she spend roughly 25% of the class time staring at the back of his head. It shouldn’t be distracting, but it is.

It’s not his fault, and she knows that, but it still makes her dislike him more.

Skye invites Jemma to her study group, which apparently doubles as an informal Classics club. Jemma hits it off with Trip, an archaeology concentration who’s constantly begging for help with his Latin homework, Victoria, self-proclaimed master of drunk paper-writing and the side-eye, and Mack, who instinctively understands whatever concept Jemma’s struggling with, even when Jemma can barely describe what confuses her.

With their help, she manages to get an A on her first paper and a 100 (Coulson offers liberal amounts of extra-credit) on her midterm. Any worries about maintaining her scholarship dissipate. She’s pretty sure she’s cemented a place in the group, despite not being a Classics major, when she bakes cookies for them as a thank you.

Thanksgiving break is only a few weeks away and Victoria and Mack have both promised that, after the study group meets, they’ll help her find books for the paper due before break. She’s found a few articles that meet her requirements, even if she’s not 100% certain about the topic, but apparently Classics professors require book sources, no matter how much more current a journal article would be.

Jemma’s waiting for the tea she brought with her to cool while Skye tells her the story of Victoria’s drunken antics at a frat party freshman year, when Trip walks into their study room.

“Grant’s stopping by,” he announces.

Jemma didn’t even realize they knew Grant.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t come by already. We usually see him at least a few times a semester,” Skye says. She pauses, then turns her head towards Victoria, “You didn’t scare him away, did you?”

“All I did was tell him that if he was going keep being his aggressively antisocial self, he’d be better off doing it elsewhere.”

Skye looks like she’s about to say something, but Trip cuts her off.

“Whatever, I need help with Latin poetry and he’s the only person I know who actually understands dactylic hexameter.”

Skye groans.

“You’re doing dactylic hexameter in 201? Isn’t that usually Gallic Wars and the Lives of Caesars?”

“Dr. May’s on sabbatical and the grad student teaching it seems to have something to prove.”

“Who?”

“Sunil Bakshi.”

“Ugh, he was in my Early Macedonia class last year with Blake. What a douche.”

There’s a knock on the door to their group study room and Jemma can see Grant through the window. She waves him in, but once he enters, he ignores her and takes a seat next to Trip.

Skye looks back and forth between Jemma and Grant, visibly confused.

“Grant,” she says forcefully, “this is Jemma, she’s in Roman Civ with us.”

“We’ve met,” he replies, more to Skye than to Jemma.

“Aggressively antisocial,” Victoria mutters under her breath, although everyone can hear her.

“Then say hello to her,” Skye talks to him like he’s a child, before saying to Jemma, “Grant’s bad at manners, but we love him anyway.”

She makes a show of patting him on the head, and he grimaces.

“Hello Jemma,” he says and his grimace turns into a forced smile.

“Hi. How are you liking Roman Civ?” she asks.

A part of her enjoys seeing him struggle to socialize, and wants to drag it out. It reminds her of how uncomfortable she felt trying to converse with him on the first day of class.

He flinches, and Jemma guesses that Skye, sitting to his left, has pre-emptively kicked him under the table to remind him to respond.

“It’s good. Coulson’s a good professor, I took Roman Religion with him last semester,” he tells her.

“So you’re a Classics major then?”

She’s pretty sure he must be, but it doesn’t hurt to double check.

“Yeah. Languages and literature concentration.”

“Which means he’s going to help me pass Latin 201 so I can graduate,” Trip cuts in.

Jemma hates to admit it, but in spite of the fact (or maybe because of it) that Grant’s a complete curmudgeon, she finds him intriguing.

With Grant helping Trip, Jemma turns to Skye, who’s highlighting passages in their textbook on the structure of Roman military encampments.

“Do you think Coulson will think Roman hairstyles is an acceptable paper topic?” she asks her friend.

She could have picked something off the list of topics he gave them last week, but hairstyles as a marker of status is more interesting to her than depreciation of coinage or the Year of the Four Emperors.

“I think he’ll love it,” Skye reassures her.

\--

Jemma’s about to head off with Mack and Victoria to hunt down books for her paper when Skye stops her.

“Wait Jemma, before you go, do you have anything Thanksgiving plans?” she asks.

“Uh, Fitz and I usually just order in Chinese food and marathon Dr. Who. Why?”

“Is Fitz English too?”

“Scottish actually.”

“Either way, that’s just sad. You’re coming to my place. We’re doing a giant turkey.”

Jemma sighs.

“I can’t just leave Fitz.”

“You should totally bring him. Everyone’s coming. Trip and Mack and Vic and even Ward. Some of my friends from computer science, too, and my neighbor Mike and his son. Mike makes this chocolate cake that tastes like heaven.”

Well, if everyone going to be there, how can Jemma resist? She and Fitz already eat too much Chinese as it is.

“We’ll be there,” she promises.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about sweet potatoes or corn casserole, would you?” Skye asks.

“Like how to cook them?” Jemma clarifies.

“Yeah, everyone’s bringing a dish. Trip’s on mashed potatoes, Mack’s doing dip, Vic’s making the cranberry sauce, and Ward’ll probably bring the burnt remains of a pie. I just need sweet potatoes and corn casserole.”

Ward glares at the books sitting in front of him, but doesn’t acknowledge Skye’s comment.

“I can make either,” Jemma says. “Or both, one for me and one for Fitz.”

“Thank you,” Skye tells her, getting up from her chair and practically skipping across the room to give her a hug. “This is going to be the best Thanksgiving ever.”

Jemma laughs, Skye’s enthusiasm is contagious.

“Definitely.”

\--

“What the hell was that?” Skye turns to Grant when she’s sure Jemma is out of earshot.

“What was what?”

“You haven’t shut up about the super smart, super cute girl in Roman Civ since the semester started. Trip finally convinces you to come to study group so you can talk to her, maybe get to know her, and it’s like pulling teeth to get you to speak at all.”

“I didn’t need your help,” grumbles.

“No, I’m sure things would have gone really well if you’d just alternated between ignoring and glowering at her.”

“I wasn’t glowering,” he protests.

“You kind of were, man,” Trip interrupts.

“You’re not helping,” Grant mutters.

“Whose the one who got you hear in the first place?” Trip counters.

“Fine, you’re not helping now. And you actually suck at Latin, so you did need my help. You’re lucky you only need four semesters of it.”

“Well we can’t all be the guy who speaks four languages at the age of 21.”

“Five,” Grant corrects him

“Getting off topic here, guys,” Skye reminds them. “We have a sweet little English girl Grant might actually have a shot with, except for the fact that he refuses to actually talk to her.”

“I did talk to her,” Grant insists.

“Yeah, about what a great professor Coulson is. Because nothing’s more romantic that a middle aged historian.”

“What do you want me to do?” Grant’s voice is sharp, but Skye can tell he actually does want advice.

“Ask her out,” Skye tells him.

“Or at least have a conversation with her that isn’t about schoolwork,” Trip lowers the bar a bit.

“Seriously, it’s not that hard. She’s really smart and—“

“I know that,” Grant cuts Skye off.

“And she lives with her best friend Fitz,” Trip adds.

The phrase “best friend” is a big relief to Grant.

“And she’s from some small town in England, likes to run, loves a bunch of science fiction tv, bakes great cookies, and mainlines tea like it’s her job. There has to be some common ground somewhere.”

“Fine,” Grant agrees, if only to get them off his back. “I’ll talk to her. Any other demands?”

“The pie cannot be store-bought. You have to make it yourself,” Skye pauses, “with love.”

Grant rolls his eyes and looks at Trip, who shrugs.

“Hey, I’m making my potatoes with plenty of love,” Trip says.

\--

Weeks pass by and Grant still hasn’t spoken to Jemma. He smiles at her once, before class started, but she was in the middle of a conversation with Skye and didn’t notice.

He hasn’t tried since.

Skye, of course, has mocked him relentlessly for his “complete lack of game” and Grant thinks Trip just pities him.

Spontaneous smiling hasn’t worked, so Grant resorts to planning. He’s got a good head for details, so it should at least go better than his previous attempt at getting her attention.

Their papers for Coulson’s class are due at 5PM on the Tuesday before break. There’s a box set up outside his office for them to drop the paper off for grading. Grant knows from Skye that Jemma has class all morning and can’t possibly turn hers in until just before Roman Civ.

He lurks inside the Classics office, pretending to be looking at the display of books professors have written. When he sees Jemma walk past, heading for class with two minutes to spare, he figures it’s safe to give up his post and join her.

After class, he overhears her asking Skye to give the paper a final once-over before she hands it in. The two girls exit the class together and Grant sets up shop in an empty classroom with a view of the entrance to the Classics department offices.

He’s translating Pindarus for his Ancient Greek Lit class, but it’s taking him much longer than usual. He’s too distracted by his need to keep an eye on the hallway, so he knows when Jemma gets there.

Just after 4 o’clock, he catches her walking into the department. He quickly gathers his things and walks up behind her. She’s checking the office listing.

“Funny running into you here,” he says, then quickly admonishes himself for saying something that sounds so much like a pick-up line.

“Hand in the paper for a class we’re both taking?” her eyebrows raise.

“Okay, maybe not that funny,” he levels with her.

She chuckles.

He didn’t lead strong, but a chuckle is better than nothing.

“Coulson’s office is down that hall. I still have to hand mine in, if you want to follow me,” he points to the right of the secretary’s desk.

“Lead the way,” she tells him with a small smile.

She’s especially gorgeous when she smiles.

It takes them less than a minute to walk down the hall and deposit their papers in the stack outside Coulson’s door, and Grant still hasn’t figured out what to say next.

“Well thank you for your help,” Jemma excuses herself.

“Could I ask you a favor?” he finally spits something out, panicked tht she’s going ot walk away before he gets the chance to start an actual conversation.

“Regarding?” she rests and hand on her hip and looks up at him.

“Thanksgiving.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

She’s not going to blindly agree to anything.

“I have to bake a pie for dessert and, as Skye so kindly mentioned, baking isn’t my strong suit.”

 

“I believe she mentioned something about you burning things,” Jemma teases.

At least he hopes she’s teasing.

“That was only once. My point is, Skye says you’re good at that kind of stuff and I was hoping you’d consider giving me a hand.”

“With the pie?” she confirms.

“And maybe those oatmeal cookies Victoria told me you made once. She really liked them and she kind of hates me so…” he trails off.

“I don’t think she actually hates you. She just enjoys riling you up,” Jemma tells him.

“Either way, I’d like to see this miracle cookie that actually makes oatmeal taste good.”

Jemma laughs again and Grant gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back. Maybe he should try making jokes more often.

“So is that a yes then?” 

He’s really hoping it is.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” she counters.

“I teach a self-defense class in the morning, but I’m free the rest of the day.”

Jemma’s eyebrows raise involuntarily at the thought of Grant teaching self-defense. She wonders if he works up a sweat doing it. With shoulders like his, it’s probably a sight to behold.

“How about I send you a list of ingredients tonight, and then I come by late afternoon. You buy me take-out as a thank you.

He’s buying her dinner. It’s honestly more than he expected out of this conversation, in a very good way.

“That sounds great. Do you need my email?”

“No, I have it from the first day of class.”

He takes that a good sign.

\--

She’d never admit it, but it takes Jemma twice as long as usual to get ready the next day. It’s not a date and they’re not even friends really, but she’s still nervous.

She’s even more nervous when the door to Grant’s apartment (which it turns out is in the same building as Skye’s) is opened by a man she’s never seen before.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong apartment number,” she stammers before he can even speak.

“Jemma?” he asks.

She thinks he might be English, like her, but it’s hard to tell when all he’s said is her name.

She nods.

“Come in then, Grant’s just changing his shirt… again.”

Definitely English.

“Mate, she’s here,” he yells loudly over his shoulder.

They both stand awkwardly in the apartment’s living room, and luckily it only takes Grant a few moments to appear.

“Good, you found it okay,” he says by way of greeting.

“Yes,” she replies.

“And Lance let you in,” he sounds concerned. “He didn’t say anything… weird, did he?”

Jemma shakes her head.

Grant’s roommate, whose name is apparently Lance, replies “If you mean have I told her how you said her accent was much cuter than mine, not yet.”

Jemma blushes. He thinks her accent is cute. Or Lance is lying at her expense, she can’t be sure.

Grant turns to talk to her.

“He was just leaving.”

The glare Grant gives Lance practically sends him running for the door, but not before he shoots Jemma a conspiratorial wink. She has no clue what warrants it.

Grant closes and locks the door behind him, pounding on it as some sort of send-off, then gestures for Jemma to follow him to the kitchen.

There are bowls and measuring cups laid out on the table, along with small piles of ingredients.

“Pie ingredients, cookie ingredients, and ingredients that are in both?” she guesses after a quick look.

“Yeah.”

Jemma would never have pegged Grant as the kind of guy who could look sheepish, but he definitely does.

“I appreciate the organization,” she tells him sincerely.

Fitz likes to tease her about her ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’ mentality. He always makes the same joke about her folding her underwear.

She doesn’t, not that he’s ever had occasion to know that.

“Okay, why don’t you wash and peel the apples, while I make the crust?” she suggests.

When Jemma called Skye last night, the other woman practically cheered when she mentioned her plans with Grant. It’s what made Jemma so nervous in the first place. Skye also made sure to mention that Grant really is a terrible baker, who should only be given the simplest of tasks. Jemma errs on the side of caution.

They work together is surprisingly comfortable silence, until Jemma puts her dough in the fridge to chill. Grant is still peeling apples.

“Do you have another knife?” Jemma asks, intending to give him a hand.

He pulls one out of the drawer and hands it to her, handle first. They work side by side and Jemma soon attempts to strike up a conversation.

“So what did you write your paper on?”

When it down, resort to talking about schoolwork.

“Depictions of the suovetaurilia in Roman sculpture,” he replies.

“Depictions of the what?”

She knows plenty of confusingly large words, but she’s not familiar with that one.

“Suovetaurilia,” he repeats. “A ritual cleansing ceremony involving the sacrifice of a pig, sheep, and bull, which are the sus, ovis, and taurus in Latin.”

Jemma nods and he continues to explain as they cut the apples and piece together the dough, filling, and crumb topping.

She already knows that he’s not a particularly animated person, but from the small changes in his facial expressions and the occasional hand gestures he makes, Jemma can tell he’s passionate about this.

With the pie in the oven, they’re making good time, and decide to at least make the cookie dough before they call for food.

“Okay, this is really easy,” Jemma tells Grant as he puts away all the ingredients they don’t need. “Just throw everything in a bowl, mix it, and scoop it onto the cookie sheers.”

“That I can probably do,” he tells her.

Jemma grins at him. He’s nice to be around, when he isn’t cold shoulder-ing her.

She reads off the measurements and points out the right implements while he does the actual work because “after all, this is your contribution to Thanksgiving dinner and I already helped with the pie.”

He’s not nearly as bad at baking as Skye made him out to be. Or maybe Jemma’s just an excellent instructor.

“Time for the best part,” Jemma announces after the dough’s been mixed together.

“Scooping it onto the cookie sheets?” Grant sounds puzzled.

She swats playfully at his shoulders.

“Liberally sampling the dough,” she corrects him.

He nods at her and produces two spoons when she asks for them.

“What did I tell you?” she says once he’s had his first taste. “The best part.”

It’s actually a bit too sweet for his taste buds, but he agrees with her anyway.

Jemma digs a large spoonful out of the bowl and pops it in her mouth. When she pulls the spoon away, there’s a small bit of dough stuck to her upper lip.

Grant can’t look away.

Their eyes lock and he slowly leans down towards her, ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind that swears he’s going to make a complete ass of himself.

His hand cups her cheek and angles it upwards so their lips meet in a soft kiss. His eyes close and his lips are gentle against hers. He’s almost positive she’s kissing him back.

Slowly, he pulls away and looks her in the eyes again. She stares at him like she’s studying him and seriously considering what just happened.

When she doesn’t say anything, that voice in his head returns, louder this time.

He totally screwed this up.

“You taste like cookie dough,” she tells him matter-of-factly. 

He doesn’t have time to process her words before her hands wind around his neck and pull him down again as she stands on her tiptoes.

Now he’s completely sure she’s kissing him, and more forcefully that before. His hands find their way to her hips, resting there until the steep angle created by their height difference grows uncomfortable. His lips don’t leave hers and his arms wrap more rightly around her and lift her onto the kitchen table.

They’re both more comfortable like this, and they don’t come up for air until the over timer signals that their pie is ready and startles them apart.


End file.
